


256 - Same Apartment Building as Van

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt "Van and reader living in the same building, have never talked but they both know there's some kind of attraction"Bonus mini request of Reader being super talkative (Van likes listening to her stories) and freckled and adorable af.





	256 - Same Apartment Building as Van

**Author's Note:**

> Note: When's the last time I wrote silly, fun, flirty Van? Also, not included in this fic, but here's A Concept: Van's girlfriend telling stories in the same way he does. Very slowly. Seemingly doesn't go anywhere. All confused and staggered, yet animated and highly engaging. As she's telling the guys something, they're all looking at each other like 'shit, there's two of them.'

"Jesus, Y/N. Keep your fucking voice down! Your neighbours don't need to hear about the erectile dysfunction of your one night stand!" Roxie hissed in a whisper. She looked around the balcony like there were a thousand eyes watching, judging. You looked at her unimpressed.

"Rox, first of all, don't think anybody can hear us. The balconies aren't that close. Second of all, wouldn't even care if they did. Like I said to him, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Like, I was totally up to do other things-"

"We're going inside. Come on."

…

The elevator was full of people. As you stepped in, you huffed to yourself then looked around. The woman next to you once knocked on your door. She had received a letter meant for you. Wrong letter box kind of thing. You turned to her.

"Busy morning, huh? Never seen the elevator so packed!" She smiled but didn't reply. You persisted. "Hope nobody's claustrophobic! Fuck. Imagine if it breaks down or something! With so many of us, the oxygen would run out so fast!"

The woman stopped smiling, but someone at the back suppressed a laugh. You looked over your shoulder. You'd seen him around before. His apartment was the one next to yours, you were sure, yet he was often riding the elevator down, already in there when you stepped in. He smirked at you and you returned it - mostly because he was a fucking babe.

You turned back around and huffed to yourself again. An elevator full of neighbours, yet nobody was up for a pre-work chat. Ridiculous.

…

"No, no, listen. I'm not even joking… … Yeah… … No! Okay… … No. I gotta call my mum… … Yeah… … I'll talk to you later."

You hung up the phone and flicked through your contacts in order to make your third phone call of the evening.

"Hey, Mum! You won't believe what happened to me at work today!" and you started on the story. It was moderated for her; it was edited to be the more parent-friendly version. Your sentences were void of swear words and your tone took on a more upbeat bubbly feel.

As your story came to an end, you noticed him out the corner of your eye. The guy next door was out on his balcony. He had a strange smile on his face and he appeared to be doing nothing at all, save for smoking a cigarette that hung from his lips in a way that made you want to trade places with it. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious and your speech became hushed.

"I gotta go, Mum… … Yeah, I know I did… … Yeah, I am… … Around 7? That's what the Facebook thing said… … How does she even know how to use Facebook? She's like, 98!... … Sorry… … Yeah. Okay… … Love you too… … Bye."

You hung up and looked over at him again. He sensed your gaze and looked right back. As you walked to the edge of your balcony, as close as you could get to him, he gave you a little wave.

"Were you listening to me?" you asked him, calling across the space.

"Course not," he replied but you didn't believe him. You didn't even think he was trying to be believable.

To keep the upper hand, you turned around and walked back inside without saying another word (a relatively hard feat for you). How had your super hot neighbour gone unnoticed for so long?

…

The elevator doors opened. He was stepping out as you were stepping in to go downstairs.

"It came from upstairs," you commented as you swapped standing positions.

The guy grinned, walking backwards. "Yeah?"

"Do you know someone upstairs?"

"Bit nosey for someone yellin' at me for listening to your phone calls," he replied with a cheeky grin. He'd stopped walking.

With your hand out to keep the elevator doors from closing, you said, "So you were listening to them?"

"You do talk bloody loud."

He waited for you to retaliate. Instead, you removed your hand and used it to wave him goodbye.

For the rest of the night, you couldn't get the image of his stupidly attractive maroon shirt out your mind. The top button was undone and a necklace hung there like he'd been born with it.

…

"Do you think it's a bomb threat? Or just a drill or something? Has anyone checked on that really old lady in 1C?" you asked a string of questions to the person standing closest to you.

"Heard the superintendent the other day sayin' they had to replace some of the alarms down in the basement. Maybe it's got something to do with that?" he replied.

It was almost midnight when the fire alarm went off in your building and everyone was evacuated. Standing in a group on the sidewalk across the road, a majority of the people looked angry more than anything else. It was freezing out too, and in their pyjamas they were in no state to be patient. It was relatively clear that there was no immediate emergency.

"Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Except for the middle of the night thing. Have you ever been down there?"

"Nah. Heard there is a couple of old washing machines and dryers. Probably older than me!" he answered. You looked at him then. Middle aged, on the older side. He was pleasant. You'd bumped into him once, running out the elevator as he came home from work. Well, you assumed work because of his briefcase. It was so fancy. Much fancier than what you'd expect given his fraying suit.

"I do my laundry at the place just down the road," you told him. He nodded politely. It was useless information. "It's really good and the lady the runs it lives above it, and sometimes her cat comes down the stairs. It's always clean and stuff too,"

"Think I might go ask someone when we can go back in," he said, walking off with an awkwardness that suggested he was just trying to get away from you.

Someone spoke to you then. Before you could get excited about having someone else to talk to you, your head told you that you knew the voice. You turned around. Your next door neighbour was leaning against a wall smoking. He had one leg propped up so his foot was back flat against the bricks. One hand was in the pocket of a thick, grey coat and the other was nursing the cigarette.

"Like ya shorts," he had said.

You took the few steps over to him, then looked down. Pyjama shorts, pink, printed with bananas.

"Why are you looking at my shorts?" you asked back.

He grinned, shrugged, then tapped the ash off the tip of the smoke. "You cold? Take my jacket," he said, already moving. He had it held out before you could say a no thank you. And, it was fucking freezing.

You slipped it on and pulled it tight around your body. "Thank you,"

"You're very welcome." You wanted to say something, but the intensity of his blue eyes was stressing you out. For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. "I'm Van. By the way. Nice to meet you. Officially," he said, offering a shakeable hand.

"Y/N."

He paused, then made a little confused face. "Y/N? That it?"

"What? What's wrong with Y/N?"

"No. Nothing wrong with ya name, love. It's a beautiful name. Really. Just expected you to say more. You're usually so talkative," he said.

"How do you know what I'm usually like?"

"God. So defensive. You're my neighbour! Hear you out on the balcony all the time. Talking about fuckin'… erectile dysfunction and all the other better sex you're having," Van said with a sharp smile.

"Are you judging me?"

"For the talking or the sex? Actually, don't matter either way, because no. Not really the judging type. And I actually really like how chatty you are. You're funny,"

"Funny," you repeated.

Van nodded then put his cigarette out against the wall, flicking the butt into the gutter. He was illuminated then, like the entire crowd was, as car headlights flashed across the group. The car pulled up to the sidewalk.

"That's my ride. Do me a favour and look after that for me?" Van asked, stepping in and putting his hands on your shoulders. "I'll pick it up sometime." He leaned in and kissed your forehead. For such an innocent thing, it was painfully personal and intimate. You felt it everywhere.

All you could do was nod and smile weakly as he climbed into the back seat of the car.

A few minutes later, the alarm was switched off and everyone was allowed back inside. You took the stairs with a bunch of other people that were smart enough to skip the elevator queue.

In your apartment there was nothing much to do but watch television or go to bed. You took Van's jacket off, ready to replace it with a fluffy throw blanket. With nobody watching, nobody to police your strangeness, you brought the coat to your face and inhaled. God, it smelt good. It was a heavy, soft material too. It was nice against your skin. Chewing your lip, you checked the time on your phone. Almost 1 am.

Kasey picked up after five rings. "What?" she groaned out. "This better be an emergency. What's wrong? Is there a spider? I'm not coming around now if it's a spider,"

"No, Kase, I just have a quick question. Time sensitive. You know the hot neighbour? Well we all got evacuated outside and we were talking and he gave me his jacket 'cause it was cold, then he just left, like, must have been going out or something, but now I'm home and I have this jacket and I just need to know if it's weird if I wear it? Like, now while I’m home. It's so soft."

The line was silent but you could hear Kasey's sleepy breathing. She sighed, exasperated. "Ah… are you wearing clothes?"

"Yes. Got my banana shorts on and a tshirt,"

"Well then… ah, guess it's alright. I don't know. Why are you asking me? What’s the time?"

"Just needed someone to back me up if he says it's weird," you explained.

"How's he gonna know?"

You snorted. "Kase. Like I'm gonna be able to keep my mouth shut. Honestly. Who do you think I am?"

She groaned. "I don't know, Y/N. Not my friend, 'cause friends don't wake friends up in the middle of the night?"

"Ohhhh, I'm sorry but it was important. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep. Sorry. Sleep. Shhhh. Shhhhhhh." And you hung up before she could complain any further.

Happy with the outcome, you put Van's jacket back on and skipped off to bed. It was nice to be able to push one of your blankets to the floor and cuddle up in the coat. You wondered what it would be like to be cuddled up with its owner too. 

…

Van didn't come looking for his jacket the next morning, nor in the evening. The day after that, you stood on tiptoes on your balcony and tried to spy him having a smoke. Nothing. You went back in and bounced on the spot in front of your boiling kettle. You could knock on his door. But you didn't want to seem into him or anything. Wouldn’t want to acknowledge the preternatural tension between the two of you. The attraction, more accurately.

The doorbell rang, snapping your attention away from the bubbling water. A guest!

You jogged to the door and swung it open with reckless abandon; the peephole was a hardly used thing.

Van.

Van was standing in the doorway. He was barefoot and in black jeans that clung to his thighs. You'd noticed his thighs before. He wore a July Talk band t-shirt and the necklace you'd seen before glimmered under the gross hallway lights. He grinned.

"Y/N. You after something, babe?"

"What?" you replied, leaning against the doorframe, hip stuck out.

"Caught ya spying on me over the balcony. So, can I help you with something?"

Dammmmmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnniiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt. You couldn't even come up with a quick lie. Instead you smiled and shook your head.

"Nope,"

"No? So you just spyin' for fun?"

"Yep,"

"Well then. Shall I just get on out there with my top off? Do a little dance for you?" he asked.

You laughed then. The thought of that was genuinely funny. Van was pasty white. You could see his spread of freckles almost hidden, being so light themselves. His Irish roots were obvious. And despite being beautiful, there was something a little lanky about him. Imagining him dancing on the balcony brought to mind a new born giraffe, pale and shaky, trying his best but being a joke before much else.

Maybe Van knew what you were laughing at, maybe not. He didn't really care though. He'd made you laugh and that was the important thing.

You stood up straight, calmed by the silliness. All of it was way too silly.

"I was trying to figure out if you were home, 'cause I still have your jacket," you told him.

"Could've just knocked, you know what I mean? Like a normal person?"

"Didn't want to bug you. Who knows what you get up to in there. Coming and going at all hours. Just took a look, figured you weren't home, and that was that. Was just boiling the kettle for a tea. Not bothered. But now you're here, you can have it back. If you want it. 'Cause if you don't, that's fine. It's a nice jacket,"

"Not sure it's your size? You're a tiny, cute little thing, you are. With your freckles and stuff," Van said in a way that made it obvious he'd been taking note of you like you had of him.

"Wouldn’t wear it out. Wore it to bed. Super warm. All soft and stuff."

Van lifted an arm and rested it on the doorframe. He grinned.

"You wore my jacket to bed? When you was just in those little banana shorts and t-shirt? You've got to be kiddin' me,"

"I can get it dry cleaned if you're worried?" you asked.

He shook his head, smiling. "Nah. Nah, love. Don't think that's necessary. So, you gonna invite me in? You mentioned tea?"

The tingling sensation in your body screamed 'yes!' It screamed 'let the boy in!' And so, obviously, you did.

You stepped out of the way and watched Van walk in. Closing the door then leading Van to the kitchen, neither of you said anything. It was killing you. You flicked the kettle on again. The boil had died.

"So why are you out at night so much? Disappear for weeks on end too?" you asked him. 

Van had jumped to sit on the counter.

"I'm in a band. When I'm back here I don't like being cooped up inside. I go out and see mates' bands as much as I can. Have a drink with people. Go catch up with me mum and dad," he answered. Of course he was in a band. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Nothing that interesting. Just a normal, boring adult job. Particularly boring to someone like you,"

"Someone like me?" Van asked with a grin.

"Yeah. Rockstar, innit? Sex, drugs, rock and roll. All that," you teased. The kettle whistled and you poured water into two mugs with English Breakfast bags already in them. "Milk and sugar?"

He chuckled to himself. "Both. Lots. And no. Not much sex, drugs, rock and roll. More like… people I can't really trust, a lot of tea and Powerade, and… well the rock and roll bit is right. The band is just straight up guitar rock,"

"Would I have heard of you?" you asked him, handing over the tea.

He blew the top of it, like the action could actually cool it to an instantly drinkable temperature. He shrugged and looked up at you.

"Maybe. Radio plays us. Been on the telly couple of times. My mum was stoked 'bout that. We even got a couple of awards. Brit Award and everything," he said in a tone that suggested it was amusing to him. Van didn't speak smugly, nor with an arrogance that demanded praise.

"Well, colour me impressed," you said, about to ask what the band was called. If you had been able to get the words out, you would have learnt that you did know Van's band. Their first album was in your music library. A year ago you were even going to go see them, but got food poisoning and spent the night throwing up. However, you didn't ask, because Van spoke first.

"I'll colour ya whatever you want, love."

He definitely meant it to be sleazy and he tried to hide the stupidest grin by taking a sip of tea. He was going to explode with laughter. You looked at him expressionlessly.

"That doesn't even make sense! Was that, like, a pick up line? Like, what… What was that? Were you trying to like… seduce me? Colour me whatever I want… Jesus," you said, followed by a snort.

Van, having swallowed the tea in his mouth, was free to laugh. He cackled and shrugged. You shook your head at him and waited for him to explain himself, but he didn't. He continued to drink his tea.

"So, the layout of our places is the same," he said. An eyebrow raised, you let him go on. "Yeah. So, like, means I know where all ya rooms are,"

"Yeah? So?"

Van grinned again like he knew a secret you didn't. He put the mug on the bench and stood up straight. "Means I know where your bedroom is,"

"Wow. Round two? So soon? You're really all about trial and error, huh?" you said, laughing into your tea. 

Van wasn't embarrassed though. His cheeks weren't going red and he wasn't looking for an escape route. You watched him finish his tea, walk to the sink, rinse the mug out and put it upside down on the drying rack. Later, maybe tomorrow, you would plan on washing it properly but you'd probably forget.

Standing next to the sink, he was closer to you.

"Tell me a story," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Yeah. Spent ages overhearing bits and pieces. Want the full experience. Tell us a story."

You thought for a second, tapping the mug to your bottom lip as you did so.

"I was in a band once. Just for a couple of months. Three months, or something." As you started the story of your riot grrrl band, you put your empty mug in the sink. "I used to go on this one website a lot, and like, obsess over this band,"

"What band?" Van interrupted to ask.

"The Horrors,"

"What? So you weren't even…"

"A kid? Obsessed teenager? Nah. I was like, I don't know, twenty or something. Anyway. I made friends with these girls and they needed a drummer for their band and I was like 'oh yeah, I can totally play drums.' I'd get the train in and sit behind the kit with my brand new sticks each rehearsal. Sometimes I'd give Bec, the singer, some of my shitty poetry to turn into lyrics or whatever. And they were actual musicians, you know? Proper good,"

"What happened? Why aren't you still playing with them?"

"Ha… well, see the thing is that I can't play drums. At all."

Van stared, then burst out laughing. You nodded, approving of his reaction.

"What?!" he squeaked. "Didn't ya figure they'd suss that out pretty quick?"

"I don't know. They didn't. I didn’t even 'quit the band' type of thing. We just stopped being friends, really. I don't know. Anyway. There's your story."

Van had watched you while you spoke; he was a good listener. Whether it was your or your story that had him so Goddamn engaged was a mystery. 

"That's a good story, that is. You're a good storyteller," Van said, moving to stand in front of you. "A good, short, storyteller,"

"Heart height," you clarified, poking his chest in the place his heart was beating faster than usual.

Van grinned. "Heart height. I like that,"

"I like your freckles," you said. That close, you could see them better. You could see the green in the blue of his eyes.

"I like yours. Yours are a better colour than mine. You got proper freckles." As he spoke of them, he gently raised his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand and running a thumb across the galaxy of permanent polka dots.

"Proper freckles," you repeated.

Your lips parted slightly, purposefully, and Van noticed. Slowly, carefully, his thumb run across your bottom lip. You closed your mouth around it gently. Looking up at him, you watched his trademark smirk evolve into a Dahlia grin. As you sucked his thumb into your mouth, spinning your tongue around and around it, Van held his breath. Then, you let him go.

"Think… think maybe I was wrong," Van said, his voice shaky with want and low with need.

"'Bout what?" you asked.

"Ah, floorplan. Maybe they're not the same. Better check, huh?"

You laughed. Hard. Bless him for still playing that game. You were well and truly beyond it. But, you humoured him.

"Think that's a good idea. For like, fire safety, you know? If they ever need to rescue me in the dead of the night, you'll be able to point them in the direction of my bedroom, for example," you said. Van bit his lip and nodded.

You pushed him away from you with two hands flat on his chest, then beckoned him to follow you with a curl of the finger. It was all painfully cliché, but it was fun and both you and Van weren't the type of people to snub your nose at clichés just to be cool.

As you walked through the apartment, the apartment that was categorically the same as Van's, you picked up his jacket from the back of a chair. With new-found grace born of the confidence that you got from Van, you pulled your shirt off with one hand, swapping to the other to finish the undressing. Boring, not at all pretty, not at all lacey bra still on, you slipped into the jacket after throwing the shirt to the side. You completely these actions with your back still to Van as he followed you, silently watching you.

In the doorway of your bedroom, you turned around to face Van. His needy, flirtatious demeanour was melting into something somehow both sweeter and kinder, and more intense.

"Are you weirded out that I slept in your jacket?" you asked him. He shook his head no. "What would I have to do in the jacket before you got weirded out?"

"Dunno, love. Guess we'll just have to figure that out," he replied, pushing you into the bedroom, straight onto the bed.


End file.
